


The Road to Gotham

by ramify



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Dark, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Hitchhiking, Mentions of Cancer, Oswald has an illegitimate child, Underage Prostitution, Violence, dcu - Freeform, this is going to be terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramify/pseuds/ramify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I learned my father's name the night my mother died. It was tucked into an envelope, and her fine handwritting clearly read <i>Oswald Cobblepot</i>. Immediately after his name there came a warning:</p><p>"He's a bad man, Thatch. Don't go looking for him, or you'll be in a world of trouble."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The night I finally learned my father’s name was the night my mother died. She left a letter for me and inside was the answer to a question I had been asking for a long time, along with a message: _I know you’ve been asking about him and it didn’t seem right to go without giving you an answer, but he’s a bad man, Thatch. Don’t go lookin’ for him, or you’ll be in a world of trouble._ I didn’t listen to her, even after I read the letter, and the decision will haunt me for the rest of my life. The letter contained my mother’s secrets; where they’d met, the type of person he was, the things he had done, that she moved across the country when she found out she was pregnant and she never looked back. My mother kept my birth a secret from him, and perhaps it should have stayed that way, but I was just a stupid sixteen-year-old boy afraid of foster care. I wanted to know the man my mother had loved at one point or another. So I threw some clothes into my backpack and made my way toward Gotham—toward a man named Oswald Cobblepot.


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard living on the road, both between walking and hitchhiking. The nights I spent alone were the hardest. At least when there was a paying man beside me in a rundown motel I didn’t think about my mother or how badly I missed her. I honestly began to wonder if she was taken from me because I had asked too many questions. Maybe she would still be here if I had accepted all of the outlandish lies she had told me about my father and moved on. Perhaps the universe had simply just decided to take a mother away from her son. Either way, I was determined to see this through, even if the guilt burned away at my conscience. I was going against my mother’s last wishes, but she was going to have to understand. I had lost one parent, and if there was a possibility to have another, that was a risk I was more than willing to take.


	3. Chapter 3

After nearly a month, I finally arrived to Gotham. The city was not at all what I had expected. Gotham was a big city, almost too big, and I found myself getting lost constantly. There was a layer of smog that blanketed over the city and not a single star could be seen in the night sky. I didn’t know where to look first and no one was friendly enough to ask. I wasn’t looking for trouble and I held onto my belongings tightly when passing suspicious characters. Oswald Cobblepot. How was I supposed to find a man who I knew absolutely nothing about? All I had was a name. There was no face to base my search off of and it wasn’t like my mother had left a map that lead me straight to my father. Eventually, after walking through what seemed like the rougher part of town, I found myself in the heart of the city. Everyone seemed nicer, or so I thought. That delusion quickly disappeared when I stopped to ask a man for directions to the nearest motel. He snatched the backpack from my shoulder, but I held on for dear life as he continued to jerk it from my grip. With one final yank, the strap slipped from my fingers and I fell to the ground, hitting my head on the pole of a parking meter. No one helped me to my feet. No one bothered to help when I shouted and chased after him. No one even spared me a glance of anything other than annoyance. The man was gone at this point and I had stopped running. This city hated me already, but I was still dumb enough to hope for a light at the end of this long, dark tunnel.


	4. Chapter 4

I had to start all over. My money had been in that backpack—money that I worked hard to earn, gone! The things I had to do in order to earn it were all for nothing, and I sure as hell wasn't going to the police. There I was, miles away from home, in a city where I knew no one, and looking for a man who didn't even know I existed. What was I even going to say if I did find him? My mood grew more sour the more I walked aimlessly through the streets, passing bright and annoyingly flashing neon signs. It was a miracle that the moon was able to shine through the thick layer of smog and I suddenly realized how very tired I was. Eventually I found an alleyway that was vacant and I curled up in the small space between a graffitied dumpster and an equally vandalized brick wall. The East Coast was so much colder than San Diego, and I was really beginning to wonder why I was stupid enough to trust a stranger and get my things stolen. All I had to keep me warm was the black sweatshirt I was wearing. I tucked my legs into the baggy sweater and pulled in my arms before wrapping them around myself. At least I was safe from the wind and out of view from harmful pedestrians on the street.


	5. Chapter 5

I was woken abruptly by a loud banging, so loud that it drowned out the terrified noise I had made, and I immediately removed my limbs from my sweater. Despite the ache in my body from the cold and remaining in a single position for a long period of time, I kept my complaints to myself and remained quiet. There was some shuffling from the other side of the dumpster, a soft whimper, and curiosity got the better of me. I peaked out from behind the dumpster, just enough to get a small glimpse at whatever commotion was going on. A man in a suit was bringing down an umbrella on another man and I winced with each heavy _whack_ the umbrella made. There was another large, balding man standing off to the side watching everything unfold. I couldn't see the man on the ground, but the man beating him was short and rather sickly looking. As though he'd keel over and die at any moment, but rage was what was keeping him on the big blue planet. His black hair grew increasingly disheveled as he continued to abuse the fallen man. I wanted to jump out and yell _STOP_ , but I couldn't move. What had this man done to him in order to receive such a beating? Would me defending the man cause me to be in the same position? On the floor begging for my life? I decided to keep quiet, learning the ways of Gotham city rather quickly, and crawled as far as I could back into my hiding place. It was so hard to drown out the man's cries, pretend they weren't there and that everything was fine, but eventually, I didn't have to. There was a poke, a jab, a cry and then a disgusting _squish_. I tried to hide the gag, tried to hold it down, but it came up without any notice. Vomit was all over the cement in front of me and I knew my life was over. I would die with vomit on my sweater and that just wasn't how I wanted to go. There were slow, cautious steps coming my way and I prepared for the worst, closing my eyes and ducking my head between my knees. The steps stopped in front of me and there was the sound of gravel on heels as the man turned to face me with a scoff. "It's just a kid, boss. Couldn't keep his breakfast down." There was another set of footsteps approaching, these ones much more frantic and sounding as if a foot was being dragged along the gravel.

  
"I guess get rid of him," another voice spoke, with an exaggerated sigh.

  
I couldn't help it. I looked up, ready to bargain for my life, but my words were caught in my throat. If I was going to die, they would have to look me in the eye as they killed me. Vomit, tears, and all. When the man cocked his gun and raised it to aim for my head, my lip quivered and a sob came from my lips. "Please... Please... Please." I found myself repeating, as I closed my eyes tightly, unable to keep them open any longer. This was so surreal, so very terrifying and mother was right. I shouldn't have gone looking for my father, and my world was just about to end.

  
Except it didn't.

  
There was whispering, and suddenly the shorter man's voice was very close. "Consider this a warning. You speak of this to anyone and we will find you." I opened my eyes to discover he was looming over me, careful not to step into the vomit with his nice, shiny shoes. His blue eyes pierced my own and he wore a sadistic smile on his face. That was the first time I had truly faced Gotham's evil, but the evil had spared me, and for that I was grateful.


	6. Chapter 6

I was too afraid to go back to the dumpster. Life was so precious and I never realized how valuable it was until it was nearly taken from me. For one day and two nights, I did not sleep. I wandered the streets of Gotham and forced myself to stay awake. No matter how exhausted I was, I kept marching on. Occasionally, I would stop and lean against a wall to rest my eyes, staying alert to listen to the sounds of the city—people screaming and the loud train rattling it's tracks. How could my mother ever live in a city like this? Was it different back in the day when she was young and full of life? I just couldn't imagine my sweet mother ever being in such a cold, awful place. My mother. I really did miss her. Sometimes I would hang out in a crowd and pretend I belonged there, but the moment some posh man or woman turned up their nose in disgust, I left. I was dirty and I smelled something terrible, but there was nothing I could do—I couldn't bring myself to enter any buildings.  
At some point in those two days of walking, I saw a man who worked at a restaurant throw out some garbage. The restaurant smelled amazing and was calling to me in waves of delicious aromas. I waited until the man had gone back into the building to run as fast as I could across the street and into their trash can. Desperately, I dug my dirty fingers into the white trash bag and tore it open before scavenging for food. There inside was a steak—a _steak_! I didn't care that it was overcooked or that there was too much fat on it. That was most delicious meal I had eaten in my entire life. I didn't pay any attention to the passersby. I knew how pathetic I looked, but not a single bone in my body gave a shit. The man came back out at some point to toss out more food and chased me off, but I was fast. I've always been fast. Back at home, I ran track and I could run a mile in four minutes—this wall of man stood no chance now that I was replenished. I ran for a long time running the streets and back alleys that I had come to learn so well. Even though he had stopped chasing me a long time ago, I couldn't stop. I kept running and laughing, despite my legs having gone numb a long time ago. There was no reason why I didn't stop or why I kept going even though there was an awful ache in my stomach. Maybe if I ran fast enough, I would wake up from this nightmare and I would be back at home with my mother.


	7. Chapter 7

Eventually I did stop, or rather I was plowed down by some unknown force. I groaned at the pain of the pavement scrapping away at my face, neck and side, but that was the only noise I had made. I was much too scared to speak out in protest and the only sounds that I could hear were my desperate gasps for air. How long had I been running? No clue. Whoever had knocked me down was sitting on top of me and I couldn't understand what they were shouting at me. The weight on my back was gone and suddenly I was being pulled to my feet. When I was forcibly turned around, I saw that it was just some cop who probably thought I was in some trouble.

  
"Where is it?" The man demanded as he began to pat me down.

  
"Where is what?!"  
The cop glared at me and shoved me against a brick wall. "Whatever you stole! I saw it in your hands, kid."

  
Ah, he was one of those cops. The ones that make up problems in order to cover their own hides. He probably didn't realize how young I was when he tackled me and when I didn't have anything on me, he was worried for his own ass. At least he was going to be consistent and stick with a story from the very beginning. I wondered if all cops in Gotham were like this one. 

 

"I don't have anything!" I shouted, once again very afraid for my life. How far would this cop go in order to be right? He whirled me around and my face smacked against the wall as he told me he was taking me down to the station. No. No, no, no. He had cuffs on me and clicked them tight before he pulled me toward his squad car. I struggled with the cuffs and tried to reason with him, begging him to let me go and telling him profusely that I had nothing on me. The cop roughly threw me down on the back of the car and suddenly my face was in pain. There was blood pooling in my mouth and all I could smell was rust. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest as he shoved me into the backseat of the vehicle and the moment I sat down, I was overwhelmed with such an exhaustion. God, I was so terrified that I could hear the blood pounding in my ears, but I was also so very tired. My eyes were closing and before I even had a choice in the matter, I was sound asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

I was sitting in a large room with what seemed liked hundreds of desks inside. The cop who had arrested me had forces me into a chair in front of a desk that belonged to a man who seemed far more interested in whatever was on his computer screen. Nothing seemed like it had been done by the book, but maybe that was just because I was a minor. It wasn't like I knew anything, anyway. I stared at name tag on desk—Harvey Bullock, Detective. The man cleared his throat after quite some time, and I hesitated to look up at him. Under his droopy blue eyes were heavy bags as if he'd spent the night drinking and he was currently nursing a nasty hangover. His greying hair was long and unkempt. There is was a confused expression on his face and it was a long while before he finally spoke.

  
"Have you been in the station before?"  
I shook my head.

  
"Are you sure? You look familiar."

  
Again, I shook my head. "No. No, sir."

  
He blinked and looked away. "How old are you?"

  
I told him I was sixteen and he gave me a skeptical look before shrugging his shoulders.

  
"What's your name?"

  
"Thatcher Welch."

  
He asked if I had any identification on me, school badges, or if there was a birth certificate at home. I told him that I was a long way from home and that my backpack had been stolen from me when I got to the city. "I'm on my way to see my dad." Details were unnecessary.

  
"Where is your father?"

  
"At work, I would imagine."

  
"Do you have his number?"

  
"No, not exactly."

  
The detective narrowed his eyes and it terrified me. He must have known I was withholding information, but I wasn't lying and there was no need for me to be so scared. No matter how I tried to reason with myself, I couldn't stop the terror stirring inside of me. I had never been involved with the cops.

  
"How about your mother?"

  
"She's dead." The words fell from my lips without any emotion. Saying the words aloud for the first had my entire body numb. I felt tears stinging my eyes and I blinked them away angrily. Every part of my brain was begging me to scream out and bash the man's head in, which wasn't like me at all. I had only ever gotten that angry twice before, and I never acted on it.

  
"I am sorry to hear that. What's your father's name? Perhaps we can contact him and get you home."

  
When I told him my father's name he furrowed his brow. He repeated the name back to me once, with disbelief clear in his voice and when I confirmed that I had, indeed given the correct name, his eyebrows rose to his hair line.

  
"Are you pulling my chain?"

  
I rolled my eyes dramatically before they landed back on the detective. I was irritated and annoyed about everything. My mother had died, my bag had been stolen, I had almost died the other day, and now this? "No. That's his name."

  
He didn't say anything, just laid back in his chair and took a deep breath before scratching his head with a pen. "Look, you seem like a good kid. I don't think you should be getting involved with Penguin."

  
"Penguin?"

  
"Oh, uh... Your father. It's his nickname."

  
"I don't have anywhere else to go, and I have three more months before I can live on my own. I don't want to go to foster care."

  
The man rubbed his forehead and let his hand run over his face. It was obvious he was conflicted and didn't know what to do. I got the feeling that most of the cops in Gotham didn't give a damn about anyone or how well they did their job. He looked around the station and then leaned forward. "Are you sure kid? I don't really want to do any paperwork, and if you're sure..."

  
"Yes." No, really I wasn't.

  
He stood from his chair and grabbed the brown suit coat that hung from the back. Detective Bullock shook his head as he put on the coat and motioned for me to stand as he walked around the desk. I stood from the seat and he grabbed my hands roughly before removing the handcuffs.


	9. Chapter 9

Detective Harvey Bullock did not talk once during our short trip. Occasionally he would look at me and open his mouth, but nothing ever came of it. It made me apprehensive to meet the man whose blood ran through my veins. It felt like I was on death row and heading straight to the guillotine. I was confused when he'd lead me to a large building with a blue neon sign of an umbrella in the window. This was where I had faced my brush with death.

The detective turned to me as if he were to say some words of encouragement, but I didn't really care. I hardly knew the man and he was only a small blip in my life. Simultaneously a convenience and an inconvenience. Still, he felt he had to say something before we went into the building.

"Are you sure?"

"No. Let's go."

We got out of the car and he made sure to walk very close to me. The men and women on the streets were staring. I hadn't noticed the other night how strange the folks in this part of the city dressed. Feathers, fur coat, glitter, and heavy makeup was all that anyone was wearing. Bullock grabbed me tightly as we walked through the threshold and I tensed at his hand on my shoulder. There was a man at the door but he only nodded his head at Bullock and allowed us access. The moment we stepped through all I could hear was loud jazz music that vibrated my chest and it was dark inside. There was a soft glow of blue coming from the stage that shined on a group of men playing the instruments that created the noise. I hardly had any time to observe my surroundings when Bullock pulled me along. We passed men and women dressed so outlandish that I felt out of place. Hell, the detective was even out of place, despite his snazzy suit. We were nearing the stage, toward a table that was separated from the others, and I was sure it was VIP. The closer we got, the louder it became and I noticed that people were dressed more extravagantly.

  
The VIP table had many men sitting at it, sipping on wine and flirting with the women in their laps. When we approached, they all looked at Bullock as if he had just sucked out all the fun they'd been having, and then they looked to me. I certainly didn't belong here and they didn't even pretend to make me feel comfortable. Bullock shouted over the music, asking where Penguin was and they all shrugged their shoulders as if to say what's in it for us? My head was pounding at this point and I was growing increasingly uncomfortable under their stares. At that moment someone had grabbed the two of us, pulling us away as the group at the table laughed. Bullock argued with one of the large me. who dragged us away and I stayed silent as the other gripped onto the back of my neck. We were pulled into a room that was much better lit, but I didn't have a chance to look at my surroundings. The man who sat in the center of the room, in the large wooden desk, was the same man who had ordered my death, but spared me in the last second. In front of me was Gotham's evil.


	10. Chapter 10

I panicked.

I couldn't breathe.

"Have you tattled on me?"

I shook my head and tried to wiggle out of the henchman's grip, but he grabbed onto my arm with his free hand and squeezed tighter. God, I was so scared and I thought it just _had_ to be a set up. I elbowed the man as hard as I could, digging my boney joint into his ribcage. He let out a yelp and I brought my foot down onto his shin causing him to let go. All I could think about was how I had to get out, had to get away from this situation, had to leave Gotham and never come back.

There was a loud bang. A gun shot. For a moment, I couldn't hear anything except a nasty ringing and I thought maybe I had been shot. I checked myself, patting my hands over my body only to find there was no wound and no pain. I froze when I vaguely heard someone shout and looked up. The dumpster man sat with his legs crossed on the desk, with an amused smile on his face and in his hand was a gun pointed at the ceiling.

"Think carefully about what you want to do next."

I remained perfectly still. If there was a chance I would make it out of here alive, I was going to take it. There was no question about that. The man looked from me to Bullock and his expression went from humored to disgust in a single second. "Harvey, what are you doing here?"

"Penguin, there is—"

My brain was reeling, clicking until the gears finally fell in place and the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Without thinking I let out a roar of laughter and I just couldn't _stop_. Everyone in the room had brought their eyes to me, but I didn't care. My mother was right. The crazy old woman, God bless her soul, was right. She'd lied to me about who my father was my entire life and who knew she would be telling the truth this time!

" _Him_? This is Oswald Cobblepot?" I rose my hand in _Penguin's_ direction and whirled my body around to face Bullock. The words just kept coming, despite the fact that I knew I should just shut my damn mouth. "Him? Really? Him. Fuckin' Christ. Him! I came to this God awful city for this?"

"Wait, kid, you don't know him?"

"No, I don't know him! I never said I did!"

The large man from behind me grabbed onto me again, holding me tighter than before in a headlock. I couldn't breathe and I was pulling at his arm just so I could get some air. He released his grip slightly and I inhaled as much air as I could, but it wasn't enough. It came in as a wheeze and suddenly the humor of the situation was gone.

"Jesus, Penguin! What are you doing? Stop him!" Harvey was shouting and struggled in the other man's arms, but my vision started to go blurry and their words were being drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears. "Hey, hey! Man, that's your kid! That's your kid!"

Their words had been completely drowned out. I don't remember anything that was said in that short time that I passed out, but the next thing I knew, I was on all fours and gasping for air. The blood was still rushing in my ears and my heart was about ready to pop out of my chest. My throat was on fire and it still felt like his arm was around my throat. The sounds of me gagging had filled the silence in the room and I could feel all of their eyes _on me_. I just wanted to disappear, but no matter how hard I tried to will my existence away, I still remained ever present. I folded my arms on the ground and dropped my head onto them. My legs had been pulled to my chest and I didn't care how pathetic I looked. All I wanted was to go home to San Diego and pretend this never happened. This was a mistake and it just kept getting worse.

Tears were flowing from my eyes and soaking my arms, but they were empty tears. Calmly, I finally allowed myself to speak, with only one sob interrupting me. "I want to go home."

Silence.

My temper got the best of me.

"I want to go home!" I screamed it at the top of my lungs. "Let me go home! I want to go home! I fucking want to go home! Fucking kill me or let me go home!"

Someone was shouting over my screams and then someone was pulling me off the ground. I kicked my legs blindly and screamed obscenities that would cause my mother to smack my mouth if she'd ever heard me saying them. My foot came in contact with a jaw and then the other. I was being pulled out of the office and through the club. The music was cut off and there was a low mummer that erupted throughout the large room as I continued to yell and holler. I struggled as a man quickly dragged me out of the club and I was certain he was going to take me out back toward the dumpster. At least I would be free of this damn city.


	11. Chapter 11

I hadn't actually slept in a long time and my last meal had been after nearly two days of no sustenance, but I still had all the energy in the world. I spent the last of it kicking, biting, and screaming. God, I really thought I was going to die, and even though I didn't actually care, I still couldn't control myself. It was like this city brought out the worst in me. Not once in my life had I ever acted out like this and I have never succumbed to the anger, but here I was and it felt _good_.

There it was. The dumpster. I was thrown to the ground in front of it, and I sat up before leaning against the dumpster. I looked up at Penguin, and smiled when I saw the delightfully purple bruise on his jaw—I had hoped it was him. There was a fire in his eyes and he rolled his jaw, wincing slightly in pain. Next to Penguin was the henchman who carried me out of the club, and now that I thought about it, it was the same man who held a gun to my head a few nights ago.

"Who is your mother?" Penguin said, gripping the umbrella, it's point digging into the gravel in between his feet.

I shrugged and gave an uncaring frown.

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he brought the umbrella to the right side of my head, hitting my ear and causing something to pop. The impact had me grabbing my ear and groaning in pain. I couldn't hear anything, just _ringing_. "What is her name!"

"Maria! Shit! Her name is Maria!" My words were garbled and I wasn't even sure if he could understand me.

Penguin squinted his eyes and looked at me as if I were some puzzle he had to solve. He looked like he was contemplating whether or not I was telling the truth, and maybe he was thinking about beating me to death if I was lying. Suddenly he turned away, his nose to the air as he took a deep and dramatic breath. "What does _she_ want? Money?"

I dug my finger into my ear and rolled my open jaw, hoping it would do something, but no, nothing. His words were so distant ask he spoke, but I answered even if I didn't know if I'd heard him right. "She's dead."

His head whipped back toward me and for a brief moment, I thought I saw something, but I've been wrong before. "What do _you_ want then?"

I scoffed as I held my hand to my ear. "Oh, you know, I thought we'd play a game of catch—" I rolled my eyes and scowled. "I want _nothing_ from _you_."

There was a silent stare down between us. Neither of us blinked and no one moved a single muscle. The ringing in my ear had gotten louder and I did my best to ignore it. Finally, Penguin broke the gaze with a heavy sigh and let his body relax, slumping down into a more casual stance. I watched him cautiously as he swung the umbrella around before it hit the side of his shoe with a soft click. "Alright. For now, I will buy this story of yours. Of course, a blood test will be required for obvious reasons. What is your name?"

 _Jesus Christ_. "No. I want to go home."

"Absolutely. What is your name?"

"I want to go home."

"What is your name!" It came out in a loud, bird-like screech and echoed throughout the alley. His face relaxed almost immediately and the pleasant, lying smile had returned.

"Thatch! Thatcher!" I screamed back.

Penguin cocked his brow and gave a thoughtful frown as he looked up at the wall ahead of him, like he was approving of _my_ name. He turned sharply, his back now facing me, and snapped the umbrella on the ground with two taps. "Well then, Thatcher. Let's get going. We've places to be."

Was he out of his mind?

When I didn't move he groaned and threw his head back. "Now, please. Don't make me repeat myself."

I stood from the ground, swaying slightly and feeling off balanced. Apparently, I would not be dying today.


	12. Chapter 12

We headed back into the building. the music had resumed, thumping loudly and no one seemed all too concerned about the events that had just taken place. Much to my displeasure, I still couldn't hear anything in my right ear and I figured this would most likely be a permanent thing. This fact had me seething in my skin and grinding my teeth as I followed the Penguin, watching as he limped through the crowd and leaning on his umbrella with each step. We reentered his office and Penguin wrapped an arm around my shoulders once the door had been shut.

"See, Detective! Everything's alright. You are dismissed. Thank you so kindly for your service today!"

Immediately, I tensed at his touch and turned to scowl at his hand that gripped my shoulder. He smelled like expensive cigars and whiskey and hair gel and I hated everything about it. I tried to move my shoulder and shake his hand from it, but Penguin only held on tighter. When I gave him a disgusted look, he just kept looking on to Bullock with a rather convincing smile on his face. I followed his gaze until my eyes landed on Bullock. He gave me a sympathetic look and brushed the arm of his jacket once he'd been let go by the henchman.

I didn't want Bullock to leave. He had been the only kind person I'd met in the damn city, and I opened my mouth to tell him exactly that, but there was a sharp, somewhat familiar pain in my shoulder. My mother would pinch me to quietly tell me to behave when I was younger, and this man had the _audacity_ to treat me as if I was a child? However, I remained quiet for some strange reason and watched as Bullock tipped his hat before leaving the office. "Good luck, kid."

The moment he was gone, I forced myself out of the Penguin's grip and hopped a few feet away from him. I rubbed my shoulder through the fabric of my sweater and gave him a miffed look, but he didn't seem to care. He just walked toward his desk, placed his umbrella on the coat rack in the corner, and sat down at his desk. "Sit down."

I only hesitated for a moment and moved quickly when he motioned for the chair in front of the wooden desk. Once I'd sat down, I wrapped my arms across my chest and avoided making eye contact at all costs. Everything about this made me uncomfortable. I hated everything about it, and I wished more than anything that my father actually was whatever my mother had told me; a sailor, a cross country bicyclist, dead. Not a man who was more than willing to kill me, and almost had twice now. He just wasn't at all what I'd imagined.

"How old are you?"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, remaining silent and falling deeper into the chair. The room was silent and I took great pleasure in feeling the fire radiating from him as he glared daggers at me. Until he let me leave and go home, I would not make this any easier for him.

"You have to be around... seventeen."

 _Oh great._ He was doing the math in his head, and reminding me of the fact that my mother had _relations_ with this man. I finally allowed myself to look at him with squinting and disgusted eyes, and he gave me an equally annoyed look. When I looked back down at a discolored mark in the rug—it looked an awful lot like blood, and I didn't doubt that—I answered through an underbite. "I'm sixteen."

"Ah! So you can answer my questions civilly!"

My head snapped back in his direction. "You almost killed me—twice. I am so sorry if I am not exactly onboard the _meet-my-father_ boat anymore."

Penguin's mouth dropped open as he bulged his eyes and furrowed his brow. "But I didn't? You're alive now—what does it matter?"

I rolled my eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night. "Gee, thanks for sparing me, _dad_."

Penguin pushed himself back in his chair and gave me a long, silent look. His upper lip was raising with each second that passed and he spoke when I thought it couldn't go up any higher. "Ugh. Don't ever call me that again."

I sighed and raised my brows before staring back at the stain. "Wasn't planning on it." 


End file.
